American Ultra

On paper, the titter-worthy concept of jittery Jesse Eisenberg playing a covert, highly-trained Kung Fu Wrecking Machine is an undeniably comical one, and, happily, 'American Ultra' noisily makes the most of this garish incongruity. As an ardent 'Cheech and Chong' fan, I still maintain a healthy interest in THC-addled anti-heroes, and Jessie Eisenberg's muddle-headed misfit Mike Howell makes for an engagingly brain-frizzled, plaid-shirted, permanently baked buffoon, who slovenly disguises his seriously savage set of combat skills behind a disarmingly shaggy veneer of Eddie Vedder grunginess, witheringly lightning-swift reflexes, and a fearsome physical dexterity that includes an inventive, death-dealing ability to turn seemingly benign domestic implements into crudely effective weapons, in Mike's steely, tobacco-stained hands even a paltry teaspoon can horrifically herald an especially grisly doom for any poor wretch that uncomfortably finds themselves gorily speared upon the angry end of said outwardly innocent-looking crockery!

There is a pleasingly gaudy unreality to 'American Ultra' that I found immensely satisfying, the preternaturally drab late-night convenience store Mike 'works' at has an eerily deserted, Stephen King-esque demeanour, and I get the strong impression that the only customer he has ever served is the demonstratively anxious Government agent (Connie Britton) that clumsily activates Mike's previously dormant ability to auspiciously Van Dammage all that deign to tarry unadvisedly in his volatile proximity! The set-up is simplicity itself, Mike & Phoebe Larson (Kristen Stewart) are the adorably fuzzy-wuzzy stoner couple whose Ganja-garlanded bliss is royally fubar'd by the murderous machinations of a malevolent mob of black-hatted assassins, which forms the exhilaratingly bloody catalyst for the blackly funny, graphically violent, bonged-out Bourne buffoonery! Subtlety is resolutely not American Ultra's strong point, and like any hyperbolically-inclined, bullet-blasted actioner, a generous suspension of disbelief is absolutely essential, and there is a thrillingly kinetic, brashly cartoonish quality which suited the film's hyperreal milieu, while this isn't exactly 'The Manchurian Candidate' for the 'Ghost World' generation, it is quite frequently a delightfully dumb, hugely fun, brain-fried good time! And I must say, that the bizarrely earnest scene wherein the understandably discombobulated Mike ingenuously asks his no less beleaguered girlfriend Phoebe if he was a robot genuinely cracked me up! Stewart & Eisenberg are a B-movie marijuana made in heaven!